


Infuriated

by sinestrated



Series: Past Tense [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, D/s undertones, Episode: s01e03 The Sin, Light Bondage, M/M, Married Couple, Rough Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: Din returns to the Covert after delivering the child to the Client. Paz is not happy.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: Past Tense [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675399
Comments: 11
Kudos: 223





	Infuriated

**Author's Note:**

> Some plot in these next couple of installments. It snuck in despite my best intentions.

His stomach churned, guilt and anxiety twisting his guts, and it was all Din could manage not to turn and run right back out into the bazaar.

He didn’t, though. The weight of the camtono was enough to make his arm ache and he took a deep breath, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he slowly made his way down the winding stairs into the darkness of the sewers. He’d gotten the beskar; he was returning a small piece of their lost history to the tribe. That was what was most important. Didn’t matter that it felt like his heart broke more with every step.

He thought of that child, his last memory of it a soft, smiling green face as it waved at him from inside the floating bassinet. What was that slimy Imperial client even doing to it right now? Was it okay? That Dr. Pershing had seemed anxious to make sure the baby was well-cared for, but he had a boss with dead eyes and a reptilian smile. What if they were hurting it? 

But no, he couldn’t worry about that. The child was part of a business transaction, nothing more. So what if it had saved his ass from that mudhorn back on Tatooine? So what if being looked at by those big round eyes made something warm bloom in Din’s chest? He was a Mandalorian and a bounty hunter. He had a duty to the tribe, to provide for their way of life no matter what. He was just doing his fucking  _ job. _

“ _ Buirok! _ ”

He managed a smile as two slim shapes rushed up out of the darkness. “Roan, Ruun,” he said, moving the camtono behind him so he could hug the twins one-armed. They’d changed a bit from when he’d left a week ago; Ruun seemed to have gained yet another dusting of light freckles, and Roan’s normally floppy hair was now shorn close to his head. He must have finally lost the fight with Paz.

Paz.

“ _ Buirok? _ ” Ruun peered up at him, and as always with his thirteen-year-old daughter, Din couldn’t help but feel she could see right through his helm. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he tried, but she narrowed her eyes.

“It’s got something to do with why you and  _ Buir _ aren’t talking, hasn’t it?”

“Ruun!” Roan jabbed her with his elbow. “He just got home, we’re not supposed to—”

“No, it’s all right.” Din sighed. “Where is he?”

“Around,” Ruun answered, clipped. Din knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of her. Though he loved the twins, and he knew they loved him back just as much, Roan and Ruun would always be Paz’s children first. He was the one who’d rescued them off a poor, backwater planet almost a decade ago, who’d taken one look at Roan’s split lip and Ruun’s bruised wrists and proceeded to beat the shit out of their so-called father and bundle them onto his own rusted, old ship. It didn’t matter that he and Paz had been married for two years now, that Din was the one who Roan sometimes stayed up all night with talking through his fears and insecurities, or who Ruun had run crying to last summer when she began her monthly bleed. The twins were Vizslas, and Din had just spent the past week hurting their father badly. Of course they would take Paz’s side.

They followed him, quiet, as he made his way deeper into the Covert. As the other Mandalorians caught sight of his burden and approached, curious, Din found himself watching for the telltale broad-shouldered figure, the glint of dim light off dark blue armor. But Paz didn’t seem to be around, and neither Roan nor Ruun seemed anxious to tell him where he was.

It was all he could think about even as he entered the forge, taking a seat across the table from the Armorer as she examined the neat stacks of beskar. Where was Paz? A shiver of longing went through him. He was used to exchanging regular transmissions with his husband while out on jobs, often multiple times daily, and Paz had dutifully stuck to that those first couple of days after he left Nevarro. But all Din had been able to think about were the grime-streaked helmets of those Stormtroopers, the polished Imperial sigil glinting off the client’s dark lapel. How angry—or worse, disappointed Paz would be to know just what kind of job Din had accepted, just who he was delivering a bounty for. So he’d done the only thing he could: he’d fallen back into old habits, “forgetting” to respond to Paz’s messages and shutting down his questions about the job. And Paz, not being stupid, had picked up on it immediately. 

The transmissions had slowed, then stopped entirely. He’d still gotten one from Roan two days ago, the skinny teenager blinking up at him in confusion and anxiety within the tiny cone of blue light, but Ruun only poked her head into the projection briefly and Paz didn’t appear at all. And gods, Din knew he’d fucked up, had allowed fear and guilt to talk him into pushing his husband away, leaving Paz angry and confused and entirely in the dark. But holy shit did he just want his husband right now, to wrap him up in those strong arms and tell him everything would be okay, that he hadn’t just sacrificed his soul when he’d turned that innocent little child over to greedy hands and a corpse’s smile.

Heavy bootsteps echoed in the distance, slowly growing closer, and every muscle in Din’s body tensed. He recognized that gait, solid and assured, the soft rustle and shift as bodies moved aside. The footsteps came up behind him, and standing next to the table, Roan turned to blink up at someone past Din’s shoulder. “Oh.  _ Buir. _ ”

Din didn’t dare follow his gaze, even as every nerve in his body suddenly lit up, singing with a chaotic mix of desires: to run to Paz and just burrow into his husband so that the whole world was locked out, or to get the hell out of here before Paz realized what he’d done. In the end he did nothing, just stared down at the table in front of him, hands clenched into shaking fists in his lap.

Paz didn’t speak. One more bootstep sounded out, echoing in the sudden silence of the forge. Din felt more than saw a broad shadow lean over him as Paz took in the contents of the camtono: the beskar ingots, perfectly rectangular and identical, dark grey metal glinting haunting and beautiful in the light of the Armorer’s flames. 

The Imperial sigil stamped in the corners, ruthless and accusatory.

For the rest of his life, Din would remember the sound Paz made then. His husband let out a breath, harsh and shaky through his modulator, and it wasn’t even anger, just a naked, raw  _ betrayal _ that made Din’s throat lock up as tears stung his eyes. Then, even as Ruun gasped and cried out, “ _ Buir _ , wait—” the shadow retreated and the heavy footfalls started up again, quickly receding into nothing.

In the awkward, heavy quiet, Din felt the remains of his heart crumble.

As the other adults shifted uncomfortably around them, murmuring amongst themselves, Din had to give the Armorer credit: she pushed on as if nothing had happened, inquiring about the job, detailing how she would use the beskar to fashion him a new cuirass. Din barely heard her over the rush of blood in his ears. Paz hadn’t...he hadn’t even  _ said _ anything. Would he ever speak to Din again? Would he forgive him for this terrible thing he’d done?

The gentle touch startled him at first. He shot his head up, blinking as the Armorer watched him, steady as always, even as her gloved fingers brushed over the back of his hand, calm and grounding. “The beskar will take time to shape,” she said, volumes hidden beneath the words. “I will look after your children. Go.”

Heart in his throat, Din lurched to his feet and obeyed.

It took no time at all to make his way to the living unit he and Paz shared, tucked away in the back halls of the Covert to provide a semblance of privacy. Din knew they were lucky; luxuries like a door that locked—or even a door to begin with—were hard to come by here, and the fact that they’d been granted an actual space of their own spoke to the appreciation and respect the tribe had for both Paz and himself. 

Not that that was what he was thinking about right now. At the moment, the only reason he was grateful for a locking door was that it would muffle the sounds when Paz threw him through the nearest wall. But if that’s what Paz needed right now, to let off some steam, then Din would let him. Gods, after what he’d put their family through this past week, he’d let Paz do anything to make up for it.

Taking a deep breath, he slid the door open—and immediately lost himself in a rush of freezing cold. “What...What are you doing?”

Paz grunted, not looking up from where he was stuffing toiletries and other supplies into a bag with angry, forceful movements. “What’s it look like,” he growled. “I’m packing.”

And the foundation beneath Din’s feet trembled. Paz wasn’t...he couldn’t actually be considering—I mean, Din knew he’d done something awful, had betrayed Paz in the worst way possible but surely he wasn’t—they were  _ married  _ for fuck’s sake, Paz loved him enough to swear an eternal bond to him and surely Din hadn’t broken them this badly, surely he wasn’t going to...

“You’re.” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, it was so small, so utterly panicked. “You’re not  _ leaving  _ me?”

And the relief that rushed through him was enough to make his legs weak when Paz immediately dropped the bag and turned to grab his hand. “No,” his husband said, squeezing once before releasing. “I love you, always will, but god fucking damnit, Din, I fucking should after the shit you pulled.” He turned and grabbed the bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he started for the door. “I just—I’m gonna find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Find me in the morning and we’ll talk, but gods, I. I fucking  _ can’t _ right now.”

And then he was shoving past Din, heading for the door and just  _ leaving him here _ and Din couldn’t let him. He couldn’t let Paz just walk out like this, his heart wouldn’t take it, he needed his husband and if Paz didn’t want to talk then that was just  _ too fucking bad. _

Two steps took him to the door, blocking Paz’s exit. The older Mandalorian stiffened and emitted a low growl. “Don’t.”

“No.” Din set his feet and swallowed. “I’m sorry, Paz, but you have to understand—”

“I don’t have to do a fucking thing when it comes to you!” Paz shouted. “You made that clear!”

And Din’s world tilted sideways. He stared at his husband, blinking. “You...You’re not mad about the beskar.”

“Of course I’m mad about the beskar!” Paz shoved him, not as hard as he could have but enough that Din had to scramble to keep his feet. “Those fucking Imps slaughtered both our families, drove us underground, made us live like we do like, like fucking sewer rats, and then you decide to just go  _ whoring _ yourself out to them like all that pain and death we went through doesn’t fucking matter—what the fuck were you thinking!”

And Din opened his mouth to reply but it seemed he’d gotten Paz going now because his husband just threw up his hands, looking about one wrong word away from socking him right in the jaw. “And then you didn’t think it was  _ maybe _ important to oh, I dunno, tell me about it? I mean it’s not like I care about you and worry myself sick whenever you’re offworld, like we’re fucking married or anything, so of course you can just fuck off wherever you like and leave me helpless and fucking terrified because that’s just who you are, isn’t it, Djarin, a fucking lone wolf bounty hunter who doesn’t care about anyone but yourself!”

Din just stared, mouth opening and closing beneath his helm. He wasn’t...he hadn’t thought...Paz was always so accepting, so supportive of him going off on his bounties and providing for the tribe, he hadn’t considered...

Paz made an angry, broken noise then, reaching forward to jab a finger against Din’s  _ aliik’gam _ where the  _ jai’galaar _ signet shone, where the Armorer had affixed it to him two years ago as he held Paz’s hand and the Covert cheered around them. “‘We march together in body and soul,’” his husband hissed. “You made that vow, remember? You made that promise! I married you as my partner, my equal in all things, so how the fuck am I supposed to protect you if you don’t fucking  _ trust me? _ ”

And Din gaped. Silence settled in the tiny space, broken only by Paz’s harsh breaths and the pounding of his own heart. He couldn’t seem to get his mind in order, thoughts scattered like startled birds. Gods, how could he have been so stupid? It wasn’t just this trip but all the others; he hadn’t thought about how, even as he worried about Paz and the kids and how they were doing back home, his husband in turn worried about him getting shot or stabbed or left to die on some lonely, godforsaken planet. And especially this time—gods, how had Paz felt when Din didn’t respond to his messages, when he brushed aside his questions and made only small talk, when he slowly withdrew across lightyears of cold, empty space where Paz couldn’t reach him? 

Paz Vizsla was a soldier, an infantryman, a fighter and protector down to his bones. Din had married him understanding this, knowing that watching their tribe’s back and defending the safety and well-being of their little family was what gave his husband meaning and purpose. Yet then Din had stolen that from him, not only taken but destroyed it with distance and silence and freezing cold betrayal. 

Paz was right. He had every right to divorce Din for this.

In front of him, Paz drew up his full height, and even though his face was hidden by his helm Din could still imagine the grimace there, the shine of frustrated tears. “You’re a fucking coward, Din Djarin,” Paz whispered then, harsh. “And I don’t want anything to do with you right now.”

He moved toward the door again, and Din let him. But even as Paz shoved past, everything about him broadcasting fury and grief, he reached down to seize a broad wrist, feeling the muscle tighten under his fingers as Paz turned. “Din,” he said, both a warning and a plea.

But Din didn’t answer. What could he say, anyway, that would fix this situation? Words weren’t what he needed right now—not what Paz needed either. And without words, there was only action.

The older Mandalorian drew in a sharp breath, black visor fixed on him as Din slowly lifted his hand, tipping his chin up to rest his husband’s fingers against his throat. It was a vulnerable position, enough to make little tingles of anxiety shiver down his spine even as traitorous heat curled in his gut at the touch of his husband’s hand to bare skin, the soft leathery rasp of Paz’s gloves as he slowly curled his fingers around Din’s neck.

Still he didn’t say anything, just kept his gaze fixed on that dark T-shaped visor as he swallowed, shivering a bit when his husband’s palm brushed against his Adam’s apple. The fingers tightened just a bit, no pressure but a clear threat, and Din tilted his head up further and breathed, stroking gently at the bare skin beneath the hem of Paz’s glove.

_ I trust you, _ he didn’t say with every passing second, every thump of his heart in his chest.  _ I’m sorry. I love you. _

And Paz gave in.

The fingers around his throat flexed and  _ squeezed _ , just for a half-second, just enough for Din to choke and his entire body to light up before the world flipped and he was suddenly slammed up against the wall, thin plaster scraping against his cheekplate as Paz crowded him in. Strong hands seized his hips, forcing him forward until there was no space to move, not between the wall at his front and Paz at his back and he shivered as his husband leaned over his shoulder to bump his helm against Din’s own, voice strained and angry and yet still so caring underneath. “Safeword.”

Din gulped, apprehension flickering down his spine even as he felt his cock fatten up between his legs. “Red fifty-seven,” he answered, obedient.

Paz huffed and drew back. He didn’t go far, though, the hands at Din’s hips moving down his arms instead to unsnap vambraces and pull off gloves. Trying to be helpful, Din reached up to remove his helm, then gasped when a broad hand shoved him forward into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the crumbling plaster.

“That stays on,” Paz snarled. “I don’t even wanna look at you right now.”

Din bit down on a whimper. So that’s what this was going to be like: Paz knew he liked fucking without the armor, loved to witness every gasp and moan and broken-open expression on his husband’s face, but he wasn’t getting that today. He wasn’t getting anything he wanted because he deserved to be punished for what he’d done.

His gloves and vambraces fell to the floor with a clatter before iron fingers seized his wrists and forced his arms back behind him. Din trembled and reminded himself to breathe as he felt a tug on his cape, followed by the slide of cloth over his bare skin. Paz bound him quickly, pushing a finger in briefly to ensure it wasn’t too tight before securing the knot and stepping back.

Din remained where he was, shivering a bit in the slight chill of the room. Or maybe that was because he could just imagine what Paz was seeing now: Din pressed up against the wall, legs shaking with apprehension and arousal, bound and helpless and at his mercy. It was enough to make his head spin a little and he licked his lips, scraping the side of his helm against plaster as he tried to find Paz over his shoulder. “H-Husband...”

A growl from behind him and a broad palm pressed between his shoulder blades, driving him forward as Paz stepped close once again. The older man kicked his legs apart and Din couldn’t help the low moan as a thick, familiar hardness dug into the small of his back. He tried to arch into it, seeking more contact, then whined in frustration when Paz drew him away from the wall and any chance of seeking friction for his own erection, hot and throbbing in his pants.

“Move and you’ll pay for it,” Paz said then, scratchy through his helm, and Din swallowed and forced himself to hold still even as his husband’s large hands circled to his front to unhook his cuisses and unbutton his pants, purposely brushing only the slightest bit over his aching cock. Paz shoved his pants down to his knees then, baring his ass to the cool air of the room, and Din barely had time to gasp at the sensation before a thick finger slid down the cleft to rub at his hole, dry.

He stilled then with a frisson of real fear. Paz wouldn’t take him like this, would he? Never in their two-year marriage had his husband actually hurt him, no matter how much Din sometimes found himself whining and begging embarrassingly for it. And he had no qualms about this—if Paz did it it was going to fucking  _ hurt _ , to the point where he might actually have to use their safeword and he didn’t want to do that right now, didn’t want to add guilt to his husband’s already heavy heart—

But then Paz just made a low sound in the back of his throat and withdrew his hand. Something cracked in the silence of the room, one of their little lube capsules, and a moment later those fingers returned, two of them slick and wet, circling Din’s rim for just an instant before sinking inside.

He gasped and lifted up on his toes at the sensation, trying not to clench. Usually when Paz prepped him he did it slow, coaxing Din open with his mouth and tongue first and then finger by delicious finger until he was wet and loose and almost crazed with desperation, wanting nothing more than for Paz to stuff him up full of cock. This, though, this was much rougher, faster, and though the bump and slide of his husband’s fingers inside him still lit little sparks of pleasure up Din’s spine it also came with a burn, his body struggling to accommodate the stretch and pressure.

Still, he grit his teeth and took it. This was what Paz needed and he’d checked in with Din beforehand, gotten his consent to proceed. And there was also no denying how even with the pain his cock was still hard, throbbing and starting to leak drops of precome that left shiny smears on the wall as he edged forward to try to get some friction and—

Paz’s free hand sank into his hip and hauled him back a few inches, just enough so that suddenly he was humping only empty air. Din whined, pushing back on those fingers and then forward into nothing. “ _ Paz— _ ”

But the hand at his hip just tightened enough to hurt. “No,” Paz said, even as he shoved his fingers up deep enough to make Din squeak, “You don’t deserve it.”

Din moaned and hung his head. Those fingers kept working him, pistoning in and out with obscene wet squelching sounds and he gasped and tried to widen his legs, to grant Paz better access as the burn slowly melted into hot lightning-flashes of pleasure. Just when it was starting to get good, though, as his breath began to hitch and his legs to tremble, Paz withdrew. 

Din truly didn’t like the desperate whimper that wrenched out of him as he pushed his ass back against his husband, hole twitching around sudden, gaping emptiness. The hand at his hip squeezed in warning and he huffed and forced himself to hold still, shivering at the sound of shifting behind him as Paz moved around. Something ripped, he couldn’t tell what, but then it was followed by the distinct  _ pop! _ of a second lube capsule and Paz’s low hum as he slicked himself up so Din just sighed and leaned forward as much as his bound position would allow, waiting for it.

And it came after another moment: the bump and slide of Paz’s cock as his husband positioned himself, the thick, hot head of him pressing down between his cheeks to his waiting hole. And then both of Paz’s broad hands came up to bracket his hips, holding him still as he drove forward with a grunt, and then Din couldn’t think of very much at all, his entire world narrowed down to the pressure and exquisite burn as his husband breached him in one long, slow thrust.

“ _ Nngghh... _ ” His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward, mouth falling slack as he felt himself widen and stretch and  _ open. _ It hurt—gods, of course it did, it’d been almost a week since he’d seen Paz last and he hadn’t been adequately prepped and fuck, Paz was  _ big _ , long and thick and seemingly endless as he filled Din up until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, nothing existing beyond the throbbing slide of his husband’s cock inside him.

It was awful and wonderful at the same time, this feeling of being simultaneously split open and held safely together. Because maybe something was off about how Din was wired, or maybe he just loved Paz that fucking much but being stuffed full of that giant cock was really the only time he ever felt complete, the throbbing, hot length of it just lighting everything inside of him that spoke of  _ safety  _ and  _ home _ and  _ oh fuck yes _ . 

It was the same now, the burn giving way quickly to pleasure and heat as Paz drew back and then fucked in again with a grunt. Din moaned and pushed back into it, lifting his hips as much as he could to take his husband deeper. Gods,  _ yes _ , it felt so fucking good, every inch of Paz’s beautiful, delicious cock sliding against his insides and he knew Paz was supposed to be punishing him, depriving him of what he wanted but that was just too bad because he fucking loved it, Paz was just going to have to try harder next ti—

And then.

He didn’t know what caught his attention, whether it was the slight catch on his rim as Paz pulled out or just the sensation of something alien and artificial inside him but suddenly he realized he couldn’t  _ feel _ him. Yes, he had Paz’s thick length pounding into him over and over, lovely and exquisite, but he couldn’t feel any of it, no ridges or pulsing veins, none of those little catches and pulls of his husband’s dick that he’d memorized and come to love over the years. And all of a sudden he remembered that ripping sound, the one he hadn’t recognized just before Paz entered him. The sound of a packet being torn open.

Paz had a condom on.

The noise ripped from him then was broken and betrayed, and might have embarrassed him if he hadn’t been busy feeling so utterly  _ bereft. _ “ _ No, _ ” he cried, then squeaked when his husband just drove him forward with another brutal thrust, “N-No, Paz, take it off—”

“Why?” The slight breathlessness in Paz’s voice was the only evidence the older Mandalorian was affected at all, even as he continued railing Din like his life depended on it. “You obviously don’t give a shit about me, so why should you get to have my come inside you?”

“Nnuhh.” His train of thought derailed briefly when Paz’s next thrust hit his prostate, lighting everything up in sparks of white-out pleasure, but then he whimpered and got his breath back when Paz drew back, that big, beautiful cock that filled him so well but was then going to leave him  _ completely fucking empty _ and he couldn’t...he  _ needed... _

“I’m s-sorry,” he moaned, uncaring of the ridiculousness of the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I’ll do anything, gods, please just take it off!” Because Jen’Issik, he just wanted  _ Paz _ , his body and his cock and his wonderful hot seed, and his husband  _ knew _ how much Din loved barebacking, how he lived for the hot spurts of Paz’s come on his tongue and coating his insides, filling him up until he was tight and swollen with it. He loved it, was addicted to it, had desperate fantasies of keeping that seed inside him and growing fat and round with Paz’s child, and now Paz was denying him, intending to fuck Din gaping and loose and then leave him with absolutely  _ nothing _ ...

And then Paz tipped forward, using his larger size to press Din into the wall until he couldn’t breathe, head spinning as that hot, thick cock ground in impossibly deep, pressed up right against his prostate.

“No,” Paz answered, and pulled out completely.

Din  _ wailed _ and shuffled backward without thought, seeking,  _ wanting,  _ but then he was just shoved unceremoniously into the wall once again, whimpering and struggling against his bonds even as he felt the soft bump of Paz’s cock against his ass, steady and rhythmic as his husband jacked himself off. And then Paz made a low, guttural sound, cockhead slip-sliding over Din’s swollen rim as it pulsed and jerked, and Din couldn’t help but thunk his helm forward against the wall and cry as he realized Paz was coming, his hole twitching and clenching pitifully around nothing as he listened to his husband empty himself into unfeeling rubber instead of inside Din where he should have been, where he belonged.

It might’ve been enough to soften him completely, except then a strong fist wrapped around his neglected cock, squeezing and pumping with brutal efficiency as two fingers shoved back into his ass, going straight for his prostate. Din cried out and bucked and choked on air as the pleasure overwhelmed him, washed over his senses and drowned everything else out and it was just too much all of a sudden, all of it, and his orgasm hit with the force of a supernova and white washed across his vision and everything just sort of went away for a while.

When he came back to himself, the room seemed brighter than before. He blinked, confused, and had just realized his helm was gone when Paz’s face came into view, dark eyes bright with fear and concern. “Baby?” his husband said, a warm thumb brushing the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Din?”

He looked so worried and Din reached for him without thought, curling into Paz’s chest as the older Mandalorian gathered him close. “I’m so sorry,” Paz whispered, voice taut and thick with panic, “I don’t—did I not hear the safeword, did I—”

“No.” Din squeezed his eyes shut against fresh tears, burrowing into Paz as close as he could. “No, love, I didn’t use it, it’s okay, I just... _ gods— _ ” And just like that, everything spilled out: asking Karga for his highest-paying job, meeting with the client, shooting that IG-11, taking the child, the incident with the Jawas and the rampaging mudhorn and the kindhearted Ugnaught and, most of all, that soul-sucking guilt when he’d turned the little one over to the Imps, just  _ abandoned _ it to darkness and evil. By the end of it he was crying again, short hitching sobs as he clung to Paz, everything inside him gone gray with misery and self-loathing.

“And then I just...l-lied to you the entire time,” he said, choked, as Paz’s warm hand stroked down his back, “and I wanted to tell you but I knew you’d be mad and I just, I couldn’t take that on top of everything else, it was just too much but then I got back here and you  _ are _ mad and I c-can’t, just,  _ Paz _ ...”

And Paz, bless him, surged forward to gather him even closer, using the entirety of his large body to encircle Din, surrounding him in the comforting familiarity of his scent and the cool touch of his armor. “Gods, love,” he whispered, petting Din’s hair, his face, his neck, anywhere he could reach, “I’m so fucking sorry. I mean yeah, I’d still be pissed but if I’d known I would’ve at least checked in on you more, maybe I would’ve taken care of you better instead of just—just  _ hurting _ you—”

“No.” Din pushed under Paz’s chin, nuzzling at the dark column of his throat. “No, I think...I think I needed it. I didn’t like it while you were doing it but...somehow, it helps.” And he wasn’t lying. They might have both acted out of anger and guilt and firebursting emotion, but the truth was being punished by Paz in this way seemed to have shaken loose something inside him, something that before had been drawn taut and tight and painful. It was like Paz had provided him just a bit of closure, an acknowledgment that yes, he’d done something wrong but now he’d paid for it appropriately and his ledger was clean. He could start anew, loving and loved by the people he cared about most. 

And he had an idea what he was going to do next.

Paz hummed then, stroking Din’s shoulder. “You’re gonna go get it back.”

It wasn’t a question, but still Din nodded. He had no choice. That child...like it or not, he was bound to it now, not just because it had saved his life on Tatooine but because seeing it and holding it just awakened something in him, something, he imagined, not unlike what Paz had felt when he’d first seen the twins. He had a foundling in his care, so he would protect it with his life. It wasn’t any more complicated than that.

“It’ll create a ruckus,” Paz said then, strategy rather than disagreement, and gods, Din loved him  _ so much _ . “You’ll get the Guild after you, maybe the Imps too. We might have to break cover to get you off the planet.”

Din nodded. “We’ll have to relocate the Covert.”

“This is the Way.” Paz straightened up, glancing at the door—no, beyond it, to the rest of the sewers where their comrades dwelled, and specifically, Din realized, to two teenagers who even now waited anxiously for them in the forge. 

Then his husband sighed. “I’ll send Roan and Ruun onto the Crest. They’ll be safest there, with you.”

Din rose up to sitting then, staring at him. “What about you? You’ll come too, right?”

But even as he said it he knew what was coming: Paz shook his head, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “You know I can’t,” he said. “If we really do get routed, they’ll need me to cover the evacuation. And  _ Ijaa’lor,  _ you know how she gets. I have to watch her back.”

Din swallowed hard. He wanted to argue but knew he couldn’t. Paz was right. All the Mandalorians in the Covert were trained to fight but only he was heavy infantry, with the firepower and equipment to cover a retreat if it became necessary. It didn’t matter that everything inside Din ached to grab his husband and pull him onto the ship with him, to bundle their family away into space safe and secure. Paz wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t who he was.

Breathing through the sudden constriction in his throat, he reached up to cup Paz’s face, slowly bringing their foreheads together to touch. “Come find me,” he whispered, fierce, as Paz held him and trembled. “After all this is done.  _ Find me, husband. _ ”

Paz nodded, pressing close. “I will,” he answered, and Din breathed out and dove in for a kiss, tasting tears, not all of them his own.

It was a promise. Paz had made it, and Din would tear the universe asunder to make sure he saw it through.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Permissions:** All my works, including this one, can be translated and podficced without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything else, please ask first. Thanks.


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